


The Banished Hound

by patchworkgirl



Series: The Beast of Greylock Fen [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Poker Nights, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 12:52:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11921319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchworkgirl/pseuds/patchworkgirl
Summary: The Raven Queen calls on her divine allies to figure out how to deal with a very unusual lich.





	The Banished Hound

The Raven Queen wasn't really in the mood to leave her court in the Astral Plane, but she'd been keeping to the most recent resolution to get out and be social when the opportunity arose, and she didn't want to break a fifty-three-year streak. But she was preoccupied and off her game was off. After Pan of all people successfully bluffed her out of a decent hand, she rose from the table with all the dignity one could muster with a giggling goat-man looking smug at one. “I should probably head out.”

 

“What? No, it's fucking early. Sit back down.” Joramy was a goddess of volcanoes and fire, among other things, and kind of an excitable pain in the ass.

 

“You're certainly not a very challenging opponent tonight.” Xan Yae's domain of stealth and mental manipulations made her a ginormous pain in the ass to play poker with, but she was fair. “Maybe a break?”

 

“I brought pie.” Pan always brought pie.

 

The Raven Queen hesitated, testing at her pique like a sore tooth, and decided it wasn't anyone's fault but her own. “Pie break,” she agreed with a nod. But she didn't join the immediate snack stampede. Geshtal and Chaav were pretty ruthless competitors when there were baked goods on the line, and she just wasn't that hungry. She took her seat again and found that Istus hadn't risen from the table either. Her needles clacked quietly and she didn't look up, but she was good at giving every impression of listening intently.

 

“Kind of a weird day in the Astral Plane,” she admitted quietly.

 

“Walk me through it?” Istus looked up long enough to quirk a silver eyebrow.

 

There was a good chance Istus already knew the gist of it, but talking things out did sometimes help. “I have a lich tied up in my basement.”

 

“Tied up?”

 

“Bound by unbreakable cords of sunlit childhood memories, gravedirt, and celestial steel, whatever.” It was also more of a pocket dimension than a basement, even if she did have a bunch of boxes of old paperwork and a broken rocking chair stowed in there, too.

 

“Isn't the point of your reaper division dealing with liches so you don't have to?” Istus bit off a thread and managed to make her savage disdain for scissors look ethereal and elegant.

 

“Usually, but I do have standing orders to bring me anything unusual. Usually, that's a matter of figuring out what dumbass mortal found which idiotic loophole and closing it so it doesn't happen again. Ninety percent of these fuckwits are just cackling narcissists anyway. It doesn't usually come up.”

 

“But this time?”

 

“It's... it's just a weird case.” The Raven Queen picked up the deck of cards from the table and began idly tossing them at the chips piled at the center of the table. She missed every shot. “No cackling.”

 

“None?”

 

“No, he apologized.”

 

Then Istus really did look up, and her expression of surprise was real. She didn't actually know everything; all the worlds that were were too complex for that. But she usually had a knack for knowing things that were important to her friends, significant going forward. The Raven Queen wasn't sure how she felt about Istus being in the dark about this one. There were a lot of possible explanations, but she realized she'd been hoping for informed advice when she started talking.

 

“For offending me. Said it was the only way.”

 

“Well, that's not new. Just about every one I've ever been made aware of has had a hell of a persecution complex.”

 

“Who's got a persecution complex?” Pan hopped into a chair halfway between them, channeling his goat half for the moment with an honest to gods leap that didn't even wiggle the two slices of pie he then set in front of each of them.

 

“Liches,” Istus explained, setting her wok down to take a bite. “Mm, pumpkin?”

 

“Sweet potato. What's the lich problem?”

 

Though still kind of annoyed with him for taking her to school with a pair of threes, the Raven Queen did appreciate Pan's occasional moments of insight. “He's behaving himself. The guy had a hell of a reputation, and three of my best decided to take on the bounty. Avanwahuan, The Beast of Greylock Fen, they were calling him. Tore the very earth assunder.”

 

“Ohhhhh, this guy! Yeah, I know about this guy.” Pan looked puppyishly excited. “I've been hearing from confused as hell druids and clerics for weeks.”

 

She and Pan had a lot more common ground than one might expect for death and life, winter and spring, but she hadn't thought to get his opinion before. “About what? According to the reapers he caused massive earthquakes, did some theatrical weather stuff...” She'd just imagined it was your standard lichly posturing.

 

“Oh, fuck, yeah, it was terrible for a bit there. He made an island. A big one, too, we're not talking a spot for a nice summer home and some ducks.” Pan shook his head. “We had to get some friendly elementals to help clean up, and Jor's actually on the guest list because she helped get the volcanic stuff back under control.”

 

“I wondered.” Istus glanced quietly toward the pillar of fire in barely humanoid form poking the demigod of delight and asking him if it was hot enough.”So, what, building his own fell kingdom out of raw lava? This feels pretty typical so far.”

 

“It would if he hadn't sent me emissaries.” Pan had clearly waited for the Raven Queen to try the pie just so he could watch her spit-take. “Seriously. Scared the shit out of a class of beginner clerics. These two giant bat looking things came tearing out of nowhere and very politely asked for Pan's blessing to be laid on Bonesplinter's new homeland.”

 

The Raven Queen finished swallowing and tried to regain her dignity. “And you said?”

 

“Sure, I love blessing lands, and it made it way easier to get my guys in there. Gonna be a very nice island pretty soon.”

 

“Bonesplinter.” Istus frowned. “That's...”

 

“Typical lich nonsense?”

 

“No, actually, Orcish clan name. I actually have a few Bonesplinter acolytes.” She turned her attention back to her needles fiercely. “Alright, very few, but I hear a lot from those worshippers. They've been in a territorial conflict with the local wood elves for a few generations. Silverbirches. It's... nasty.”

 

“Does Avanwahuan sound very Wood Elven to anyone else?” Pan asked. Generally he was the last of them to get hold of the point.

 

And in this case miss it entirely. Istus cut in on account of actually knowing Elvish. Pan might, somewhere in that thick head of his. He'd been around long enough and had more than enough elven adherents. “That translates to 'banished hound,' I think, so if so, no one liked him very much. Is he an elf?”

 

“Hard to tell,” the Raven Queen admitted, frowning. “He's more a faintly person-shaped cloud than anything else. Went full lich right away.” Usually they tried to cling to the bodies they were used to, shaped them into vessels or went through a mockery of the motions of life. There was something almost practical about letting the change happen. Practicality was not a common trait with these guys. “Fuck me, do I have to go talk to that Corellon dinkhole?” The exclusively elven deities were a bunch of pompous asses. Usually she could get them to at least talk to her, since her domain of death was at least pretty respectable, but it was never pleasant. And most of her friends were the lesser deities and demigods the more important pantheons usually snubbed. She didn't appreciate the treatment on their behalf. “Hey, jerk, tell your charges to quit going lich.”

 

“Might be a way around that,” Istus suggested mildly. “I think Gruumsh is coming.”

 

The Raven Queen wrinkled her nose. “Seriously? Because if he hits on everyone and drinks all the beer again, we might be looking at the first major celestial battle in four hundred years.

 

Pan shook his head serenely. “No, I think we cured him of that. Last time he tried, I hit on him first.”

 

“And?”

 

“We had a pretty nice night, I got a tour of the eternal battle, had some mead and haunches of stuff.”

 

The Raven Queen had to admit this was a pretty good solution. Whatever was going on effected Gruumsh's followers, so he'd probably be able to give her pretty precise information. “Alright, we'll try that.” The _we_ was accidental, but apparently this was everyone's problem now. She'd been tricked into accepting help from her friends. Again. Dammit. “So far I have an apologetic lich who caused a bit of an environmental disaster. Oh, and this is the weirdest part. Valerian—you remember her, head reaper, got rid of those revenants in the Felicity Downs for you.” Pan nodded appreciatively. It was such a nice little woodland. “According to her report, he pulled off the necromantic parts of the transformation with chickens. She found him on a chicken farm.”

 

“Someone has a pretty great story about the lich who took their chicken farm,” Istus shorted.

 

“No, his chicken farm. Had been running for years, even had a little attached restaurant. She got a lot of her intel from locals who told her to try the shepherd's pie.”

 

“Can you even...” Pan's domain was antithetical to necromancy, so it was fairly a bit of a blind spot. “Can you get enough power from chickens?”

 

“It'd take a hell of a lot, and a long time, but, well, apparently. And when Val asked him why, you know, presumably pointing her scythe at him and being scary, he politely explained he was a mediocre sorcerer before and there was no other way.”

 

“No mediocre sorcerer could make themselves into a lich, alone, with _chickens_ , and stay coherent on the other side.” Istus paused in her stitches for just a moment and then redoubled her speed.

 

“Let the revels begin!” Gruumsh's voice made the rafters rattle a bit, an impressive trick given the building they stood in really only existed due to the collective wishes of the gods within. (Getting enough of them together for a good poker night just didn't happen often enough to dedicate permanent resources.) He was big even for a celestial being, towering and swinging a war club, but he did look a bit more polite than the Raven Queen was used to seeing, and he smiled at Pan far more gently than was his wont on his way to grab a beer.

 

When he appeared at the table with four drinks, the Raven Queen decided this might actually be an improvement. “Hey, big guy, what can you tell me about the Bonesplinter clan?”

 

A lack of social graces from the pitiless goddess of life into death and the rule of winter wasn't exactly surprising, and niceties weren't in Gruumsh's wheelhouse anyway. He blinked at her for a moment (or maybe with just the one eye it was a wink, hard to tell), then shrugged. “Noble, ancient, and proud, having a hell of a time the last few generations. I field a lot of intercessions.”

 

“There's an elf settlement they're up against?”

 

He nodded, taking two chairs at once as he dropped down between Pan and Istus. “Silverbirches. Greylock Fen's not rich country, and they've been at it long enough that it's just... ugly.” Gruumsh was a war god in many of his aspects, but he was all for glorious, honorable contest, not nasty, endless skirmishing. “Though come to think it's gotten quieter lately. A few clerics have been asking for guidance about whether they should give up the territory and travel someplace new. Has to do with Torgan's boy.”

 

The Raven Queen hadn't figured on how long it'd take to get a straight answer out of a guy who literally lived on meandering war stories. Lucky the pie was lasting. Thank Pan for magical pie. “Torgan?”

 

“Died a few dozen years back, part of my retinue now. One of our greatest bards of this age, poured his life into trying to end the war, least I could do was have him around for a few centuries.” He nodded to the Raven Queen, who shrugged. She had to assume the request had gone through the proper channels. She wouldn't sign off personally on a god far more widely worshipped than she was borrowing the soul of a bard for a bit. “Spent a few years working with one of the Silverbirch bards, never got much of anywhere at healing the rift, but came out of it with a kid. Kept the boy with him long as he could but... My people burn fast, bright, and beautiful. Elves smolder. The Bonesplinters sent the kid to his mother. Hoped it might help.”

 

“The kid wasn't called Avanwahuan by any chance?” The Raven Queen sighed.

 

“Aye, that's what his mother's folk called him. Why?”

 

She sighed again, deliberately and self indulgently, and filled him in on what they'd put together so far. It all seemed pretty simple laid out. In conclusion, “We have a lich who technically didn't even stray into evil to get that way and used the power to finish his father's work and create a new country to end generations of slow-burning war. I... What do I even do about that?” It was still an offense against the laws of life and death. Those laws were still immutable. It was inimical to her entire being to allow the idiot to go on causing ecological disasters, but she couldn't blame him a bit, except for being stupid.

 

“If I may.” Istus lifted her needles to display an almost completed image of a young man with very short tusks just peeking out from his lower lip and the knifepoint of an elf's ear softened by the blunted curve of the orc side poking out from tumbling dreadlocks. Strong, narrow features married the man's rather rare ancestry into a strikingly handsome face. The lady of fate could be amazingly evocative with just a few stitches, and he looked lost and wistful and his dark eyes seemed to meet all of theirs. Once she had everyone's attention, she flipped the work over. Same man, but this time garbed in the traditional flowing black of the Raven Queen's servants. “Technically, I haven't quite finished, but fate seems to be leaning pretty hard in one direction...”

 

“It'll be a hard sell, but it would wrap everything up nicely.” The Raven Queen smiled for the first time tonight. “At least I know he's clever.”

 

“Seriously, chickens?” Pan seemed stuck on that.

 

“What'd his father call him?” The Raven Queen looked inquiringly at Gruumsh, gauging his reaction. She didn't really want to offend the guy when he was being personable, and he'd already decided to favor one generation of the family with his notice. A little diplomacy here while she scooped his talent. “You said the Silverbirches called him Avanwahuan.”

 

“Still mean,” Istus muttered.

 

“Yeah. How about the Bonesplinters?”

 

“Ah...” Gruumsh considered for a moment. Details were not his forte, but he seemed pleased that she'd asked. “Kravitz. Kid's name is Kravitz.”

 


End file.
